Travel is about experiencing the world; writing makes sense of these experiences. And the goal of great travel writing goes beyond listing landmarks and planning itineraries, instead capturing a transformational moment. But what room does this leave for the truth?
Travel writers inherently understand that their stories should be an honest recounting of events. However, have you ever sat down to write and found that your story is too messy or, in certain moments, too boring? To make it more readable, you’ve probably ended up reordering events, skipping encounters, or rewriting dialogue.
Narrative travel writing is a genre that blurs the boundaries of truth. But how much liberty can a travel writer take before crossing the line from honesty into invention? How much are you allowed to make up?
Discover more: Listen to our Travel Writing Podcast with Tim Hannigan on this topic.
Creative Nonfiction vs Journalism
Journalists have a strict ethical framework when it comes to reporting stories. They should write quotes verbatim and state events exactly as they happened. There is an expectation from the audience that nothing has been made up. Even if a journalist has an editorial slant, there’s no room for fabrication. Accuracy is non-negotiable.
Creative nonfiction plays by looser rules. Yes, it’s nonfiction. This means it isn’t a fabricated story; it depicts events that really happened. However, the “creative” side leaves room for imagination. Some events may be reimagined or misremembered. Audiences anticipate that some scenarios will be set up or slightly changed for the sake of the story. They accept this while believing in the overall truth of the piece.
What About Travel Journalism?
Rather confusingly, travel journalism tends to stray from pure journalism into the realm of creative nonfiction. For instance, I worked as a travel journalist in Mongolia. In my resulting piece, The Silicon Steppe, the story is entirely true. The characters, events, and statistics are real.
However, the story has me visiting the nomads before the ger districts. In reality, it happened the other way around. I changed the order because it made more sense for the narrative. You can’t understand the ger districts without first understanding the nomads. My piece recounts true events, even if they’re presented creatively.
At the other end of the spectrum, writer Tim Hannigan gives the example of Mandeville’s Travels. This book’s influence stretched as far as Christopher Columbus, aiding his expeditions. Mandeville’s stories were accepted as truth at the time but found to be fabricated. Later scholars crowned the author “the greatest liar of all time.” This book contained obvious lies presented as fact. That crosses the line.
The Problem with Memory
Another obstacle to truth is memory. What we remember isn’t always what was. Think about your last trip. Was there a meal you particularly enjoyed? If so, can you remember the design of the plates, the decoration on the walls, or the face of your waiter? Probably not, yet these facts may help illustrate the story.
Though flawed, memory is a powerful tool. It captures the important things. You’ll likely remember what you felt, what shocked you, or what stood out from the other details. Months or years after a trip, details blur, conversations merge, and landscapes morph. But memory holds the seeds of the truths that matter most.
Memoirist Vivian Gornick argues that in creative nonfiction, what happened matters less than the meaning the writer makes of it. Readers aren’t coming to your story for a police report — they want your truth, shaped by who you are and where you’ve been.
If You Can’t Be Certain, Be Sincere
You’ll never write a story with complete certainty. Instead, aim for sincerity. Be faithful to your experience, even if your account is flawed or unfinished.
Perhaps you remember the sky as a dazzling, clear blue when it was actually pretty cloudy. This may not be objectively true, but it reflects your positive attitude toward the place you visited.
In my article on AI and travel writing, I wrote about a scary encounter in Prague. In that story, one bearded character was large and imposing. I was sitting on a low couch at the time, which exaggerated the height difference. In another setting, he may have been short and cheerful.
Context shapes memory — and that’s okay. Let your fallible recollections guide the story. That said, use your notes and photos where possible to direct your story toward reality. If you’re able to correct any misremembered details, it’s wise to do so. But if reworking the structure helps convey an emotional truth — without inventing events — you’re on solid ground.
The Goal of a Storyteller
Think about your mission as a writer. Are you trying to exactly replicate your trip on the page? Unlikely. Instead, you probably want to evoke emotions and instill lessons from your journey.
Publishing a detailed and ordered list of events rarely makes for a good read. Instead, think of yourself as a sculptor. You have a big block of marble you need to chisel into something beautiful. Your role isn’t to merely guide a reader through a place but to take them on an emotional journey. Give them the full spectrum of travel-related feelings – awe, fear, loneliness, companionship, conflict, anticipation, and joy.
If you need to leave bits out and rearrange what’s left for the sake of achieving your goal, then go ahead! Let your creativity loose. Craft the raw elements of your experience into something that resonates.
What Is Truth, Anyway?
It’s the oldest question in philosophy and surprisingly hard to answer. There’s literal truth – places, names, dates, etc. – and then there’s emotional truth – the writer’s internal journey. (Don’t get me started on metaphorical truth.)
Attitudes toward truth have evolved over millennia. Plato believed the physical world was an imperfect copy of the realm of unchanging Forms, where true reality existed. Hume argued that truth is found through direct observation, while Descartes doubted the reliability of his senses.
By the Age of Enlightenment, reason and science were valued above all else. Then came postmodernism, which posits that all facts are filtered through human perception, which itself reflects the complex combination of race, gender, upbringing, and other sociological factors.
You don’t need to resolve centuries of philosophical debate — just stay honest about your intent. You’ll intuitively know when you’ve fabricated a story or dishonestly represented a community. Stick to your conscience and you’ll be fine.
So, where’s the line? That’s sort of up to you. It matters less where you place it and more that you place it consciously – with intention. When crafting a narrative, question what you’re doing and be prepared to justify it.
Tell a story that feels true — not just in the facts, but also in the heart. Write with integrity, letting your conscience be your compass.
